The Forgotten Tennis Courts Of Ancient Kingdom Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The graveyards are leaping in their unabashed homes for
Little girls who so seldom come to the granite firesides
Of their despondent cenotaphs,
With the stewardesses leaping so highly overhead, with such strength
That they should have wings themselves:
While my little banquet of words pell-mells wherever it does:
While the tiny story books finally stumble from her hands, as they fall asleep
Beside her children like butterflies in a rich forest that keeps on going
Into the wilderness, without definitions- and into the feral
Apiaries and the forgotten tennis courts of ancient kingdoms:
And further still, as long as the sleeping beauty of her eyes
Lays closed: so far away,
Where it never has to end.